


Fast

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angelic Grace, Bottom Sam, Coming Untouched, Crossdressing, M/M, Rough Sex, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:04:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6426808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam surprises Castiel with a real cute outfit, thigh highs, a miniskirt, the whole package, so the angel bangs him on a table in record time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackrose_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackrose_17/gifts).



> The culmination (for me at least) of Sastiel Love Week; I was Sherri's anon, and since my own totally deserted me, she was the only outlet for my mountain of sassy feels. And we got to talking about Sam in a skirt, and, well, here, you deserve it. 

Sam’s heart beats too fast at Castiel’s footsteps down the stairs. He _knows_ he looks good so he _doesn’t_ know why he’s nervous, smoothing down the pink miniskirt, straightening the soft white thigh high socks. God bless the internet because they _fit_ , leaving a delicate inch or two of skin visible. He’d sent Cas out for groceries while he changed and now the angel’s back, seconds away, and Sam doesn’t know where to arrange himself. He hops up on the counter, wriggles in place and huffs out a breath. Messes with the skirt again, last time, and then Cas blusters into the doorway.

He doesn’t notice at first, which is kind of hilarious. Sam perches huge on the counter, gigantic and beautiful and he has to clear his throat before Cas _really_ looks.

He nearly drops the groceries, inches away. Sam _laughs_. It’s so cute, this fluster, that his own nerves just go. Cas smooths everything over, just being here.

“Let me help,” Sam says, starts to hop down but Cas moves _so_ fast, somehow slings the groceries up beside Sam _and_ gets close enough to grab at Sam’s thigh, the part where it’s all tanned skin, to hold him in place.

“Stay,” Cas tells him, just shy of command.

Sam’s still smiling but the laugh is gone and Cas breaths down his neck, so close he feels it everywhere, shivers despite the heat. He _knows_ Cas likes the skirt, he’s seen it before, but never by surprise and never in the kitchen and not with the socks or the lacey little bralet, but it’s an obvious hit. Sam turns his head, nuzzles into Cas, lets his legs fall open on the counter.

“You’re gorgeous,” Castiel says, all hands now, creeping under the skirt and sliding up his back. There’s not very far to go under the skirt before his fingertips edge along Sam’s panties.

More white, more lace, everything matches.

Sam even _feels_ gorgeous, right now, basking in Castiel’s attention. Even under the gentle brushes of Cas’s fingers, Sam’s dick fills up the panties and the lace squeezes at him, and then it’s Cas’s hand on top, gently coaxing him all the way. It really doesn’t take much, not like this.

“Besides being gorgeous, what did you have in mind?” Castiel asks, chases the words with his mouth against Sam’s ear and along his smooth jaw and then back up, carefully veering away from Sam’s chasing lips.

Sam hadn’t actually thought this far, hadn’t expected Cas to start groping him right away. so much better than cooking together or unpacking groceries though. And they do have the whole bunker to themselves until tomorrow morning. And goddamn, Cas got him from zero to ninety in no time at all.

“You should probably fuck me. Over the table.”

Castiel growls into his neck and Sam feels it thrum through him like electricity. Still sizzling when Cas basically moves him, half-carrying, half-dragging him to the table. No one else manhandles him, no one else is allowed or could even attempt it, but Cas pulls it off so easy, takes his fucking breath away with it every time.

Sam lands on his back with the skirt flipped up onto his stomach, with the head of his dick poking out and just barely leaking. He starts to twist, meaning to turn onto his chest but Cas doesn’t let him, grabs his hips and shoves him further up on the table. They’re lucky it holds and Sam knows it but if Cas wants him on his back, he’s not complaining.

Cas stares at Sam for a long few seconds, not long enough for impatience. Instead, it makes Sam stretch out longer, sigh out a happy breath and throw his arms up above his head, luxuriating in Cas’s gaze.

Cas doesn’t really _tear_ the panties off of him, but for a moment, Sam’s afraid they’re going to rip under the angel’s slightly rough hands. Cas always walks that line so well, unpredictable enough to make Sam gasp but still somehow so safe.

“I could’ve got ready if - “ Sam starts, but Castiel drapes over him suddenly, cuts it off with his hand gripping Sam’s chin and then his mouth, finally kissing him, _finally_ , open-mouthed right away. It’s so uncouth, panting up into Cas’s mouth but Sam can’t get his breath like this in the best way. Castiel’s hands are everywhere, groping at his lace-clad chest, squeezing at his neck, his dick, rutting against his thigh where the skirt’s riding up.

“It’s okay, I like doing it,” Cas says against Sam’s mouth just as his fingers slide ff his dick, down his balls and lower, nudging gently at his barely exposed hole. Sam never asks where the lube comes from because, angel magic or the million pockets of his coat or _whatever_ , it doesn’t matter; Cas is ready to go anywhere, everywhere, slickly probing Sam in seconds.

Later, they’ll go slow. Before bed, maybe tomorrow morning, it’ll be unhurried and languid and sweet, downright life-affirming glow-enducing borderline-tantric sex. But this is not that, and Sam fucking loves that they can have both.

Cas always gets him wound up so fast, so close on his fingers, not particularly long or thick but incredibly dexterous, beyond competent. One, and Cas tells Sam how _pretty_ he is like this, how good. Two, and Cas tells him how tight his sweet little ass feels so Sam makes it tighter until Cas shudders, regains composure and shifts, strokes firm and short over the most sensitive spot inside Sam, makes him see stars and grab for his dick. He’s leaking a mess against the skirt and his hip and Cas bends in half to taste it, makes a show of licking before he’s back on Sam’s mouth again, smearing the tacky pre-come against Sam’s lips.

Three fingers nudge in and Sam almost cries, head thrown back so Cas bites at the length of his neck, licks up the sweat from his collarbones, his voice vibrating right down to Sam’s core. “One more minute, Sam. One more and I’m going to fuck you and it won’t last long, I’m afraid, but neither will you. Not once I start pounding. You’ll mess up your skirt even more. I might make you clean it up later.”

“Oh my god,” Sam swears, pumping back against Cas’s fingers, bucking so hard the table scrapes back, slams against the wall and Cas stills him with just one hand on his hip, disturbingly strong in a way that makes Sam shudder.

Cas is still completely dressed all the way to his coat, and that doesn’t change; Sam raises his head when Cas’s hand slows, groans in anticipation watching him get his dick out, red and hard and he gives it a few strokes that – magically or whatever – make him slick and shiny so there’s no hesitation, no waiting at all. Fingers out, and Sam only has a second of terrible emptiness before Cas pushes in and fills him up more than before, _so_ much more.

Cas spears the breath out of Sam in one long push and Sam goes boneless quiet, pliant enough for Cas to rearrange while he half-climbs up onto the table. Sam’s leg gets shoved almost up to his shoulder, far as it goes but he doesn’t even feel the muscle flexing, stretching to the limit. Cas gets deeper like that, gets the better angle, always knows what he’s doing like it’s second nature to fuck Sam, to get him off with desperate speed.

There’s very little adjustment period; Sam’s still winded, gasping and Cas starts moving inside him, fast and thorough, looming over him. He gathers Sam’s hands up so quick, gripping his wrists in one hand like it’s no effort Sam squirms back against him just to test it, just so he can feel Cas pin him down and hold him against the hard table.

“Don’t hold back,” Cas tells Sam, hovering over him all balance and poise while he keeps up his rhythm, while Sam utterly falls apart underneath him. Cas kisses him and doesn’t get kissed back, since all Sam can do is pant and nearly sob, concentrate on breathing and the never-ending pulsing of Cas pounding him. Cas skims a hand down his chest, gropes at his chest through the lace and palms down, down to his dick for the most leisurely stroke; Sam twitches up for more when his hand backs away, back up to his chest.

It loops like that, and Sam doesn’t know for how long; sometimes it’s Cas’s fingers tugging at his nipples through the lace, once or twice it’s his teeth. Cas’s grip on his dick light and loose in turns, fast and slow and it’s all so overwhelming. Sam’s glad he doesn’t have a concept of _time_ at the moment, doesn’t want to know how fast he comes.

Cas isn’t even touching his dick, Cas has his tongue shoved in Sam’s mouth and his fingers twisting Sam’s overly sensitive nipple under the fabric, harder than before and if that’s what makes him blow, specifically, it’s lost in the waves of everything else. Cas keeps hammering him through it, same pace, same everything, clockwork regular but never _not_ perfect.

The angel holds a thrust when he comes though; Sam’s still spacey, coming around to noisy again. He tries to twist up against Cas, tries to kiss him through it but Cas groans, growls into his mouth and scrabbles to get deeper in the vaguely primal way he has whenever he comes. Sam loves it, feeling tiny, weightless, totally at Castiel’s mercy while he fills Sam up.

Sometimes one of them talks, pouring out filth and instructions; not this time.

Cas loosens his grip, starts to pull back after a second and Sam doesn’t move. Not yet. Maybe never because he’s a mess, sticky all across his hips and the skirt. Cas pulls out faster than Sam would like, really, and he swears he can feel Cas’s load dripping out, pooling still warm underneath him on the table.

And then there’s blankets on the floor and Cas tugs him down towards them; Sam thunks gracelessly into the soft pile and doesn’t ask where anything came from because, really, who cares. He tucks himself up against Cas, messy and hot and so quickly fucked out. Like, _speed_ fucked out.

“You’re a beast,” Sam mutters, and Cas doesn’t argue. Not when his hands are slipping under Sam’s skirt again, tracing the jizz that’s dripping against his leg now.

“I am capable of that,” Cas agrees, goes that far, and Sam looks up because he knows there’s a feral twinkle in his eyes and he never wants to miss it.

He doesn’t expect Cas stuffing his fingers into his mouth, but he knows what to do after a second, moaning, cleaning them off. Sam knows there’s more, but Cas lets him settle back again, lets him catch his breath.

Sam gets a couple of minutes; he lets Cas rearrange him again, slowly slinging one leg over Cas’s hip, his hard-again dick probing at Sam again finding no resistance. Sam lazily rolls on top, sighing happily, hands smoothing over Cas’s chest and this time, they go slow.


End file.
